Family Deductions

John sighed, unconsciously echoing Sherlock's breath out, "It's always Carl Powers and Connie Prince come to my mind when I hear Botulinum mentioned." he said quietly.

Hopkins could be outright difficult or helpful on two consecutive days for some reason. "Did Hopkins give you the case notes?"

Hamish nodded and rolled his eyes quickly; of course he remembered Jim Moriarty, even if the name was scarcely spoken in their house.
"Sounds exciting, can I help then?" he asked eagerly, interrupting John.

Sherlock looked at John and smiled briefly. "Actually no, I kind of acquired them in a slightly illegal manner," he admitted. "Although Hopkins will thank me for it when I solve the case for him."

Then he turned to his son and patted him on the back. "Of course you can help," he mumbled. "But like I said, you'll need to wear gloves. Poisons. Dangerous."

Sherlock helped himself to some of the chow mein, suddenly feeling rather hungry. It had been a while.

John chuckled and replied to Sherlock "Slightly illegally, why am I not surprised. No, you're right Hopkins will be over the moon when you solve the case for him. I think he's so crabby because he lets the stress get to him, he's not like Greg. Actually I think I'll phone Greg later and see how he's doing."

He reminded his son "And cover any cuts or grazes with a plaster, please."

"Yeah sure, stop worrying about me Dad." he said playfully elbowing John before getting up to clear away the plates.
"I'll start setting up" he called, jogging down the stairs to Sherlock's lab. Pulling on some thick latex gloves and a pair of safety goggles Hamish started looking in the box for the organs. He smirked, wondering what his classmates would think of and his dad experimenting on human organs on a Friday evening. Of course, a few of his friends had a vague idea of went on in the Holmes-Watson household, not that he ever graced them with the details of course.
He wrinkled his noise slightly as he unwrapped the heart from its protective wrap, wondering if he should have waited a bit after the Chinese.

Sherlock stretched his arms back in the air and relaxed for a moment, knowing he had a few minutes before Hamish would be all ready to go down in the lab.

"Thank you for getting the meal," mumbled Sherlock. John had taught him many things during the 19 years they'd been together, one of which was how to be appreciative, although somehow "please" "thankyou" and "sorry" were still all words that fell uncomfortably out of the detective's lips.

He leaned forward and cupped John's chin in his hand, turnind the doctor's head slightly to give him a tender kiss. Then he glanced at his watch and stood up from the table. "Won't be long," he muttered. "Although you don't have to wait up if you don't want."

John smiled at Sherlock thinking it was good to see him relaxed "Mmm, thank you for trying to eat something." He meant it having spent time in their early years together trying to persuade Sherlock to eat while he could. It was insurance as cases often turned up out of the blue and the detective could never eat when his mind was focussed on the case.

John leaned over the table when Sherlock's fingers reached for his face and returned the affectionate little kiss that came. "Ok, I might go and have a read in bed. Enjoy yourself"

"Dad, are you coming down?" Hamish called from the lab, trying not to let himself get too excited over the experiment. Smiling triumphantly as Sherlock came down the stairs he finished laying out the last organ, a rather large looking liver, before standing back to let the detective through.

"Coming Hamish," Sherlock called, getting up from the table and jogging down the stairs. He was pleased to see his son had already begun to set everything up and gave him a small smile and a pat on the back before putting on his goggles and gloves.

"Let's start with the heart shall we?" He grinned excitedly, going to the cupboard and taking out a small bottle with several toxic warning stickers plastered on it. He unscrewed the tap and reached for the spatula. He removed some of the poisonous powder from the bottle and sprinkled it directly on the heart, stepping back to watch the results.


((I've no idea what actually happens when you do this. I tried to look it up but couldn't find anything and as I haven't had the pleasure of trying the experiment in real life yet, let's just make it up and say it sizzles, or turns black, or turns grey or something relatively cool))

John attended to the washing up and then phoned Greg Lestrade. The two men spoke for some 20 minutes. It was the same sort of conversation as usual in which John would ask where Greg had been lately and what he had been doing and Greg would ask how Hamish was and if he and Sherlock were busy and how Sherlock was in a blokey way.

There wasn't anything that caught his eye on the television menu so he pulled a philosophy book off the shelf and sat down to read.

Hamish watched, eyes perhaps a little too wide and jaw a bit dropped to claim tat he wasn't fascinated by the effect the powered toxin had on the muscular wall of the heart. The flesh underneath seemed to turn a blueish-grey colour, as if all the blood was being removed from the capillaries which fed the heart muscle. "I assume that's what kills you." he said with a broad smile- their really was no need to be sensitive around Sherlock. "So the toxin carried in the blood stream to the heart, and then what does it do to cause that to happen?" he asked Sherlock, who was already reading for a needle which had a syringe full of the toxin.

((sorry i seem to have neglected this thread a bit :/ ))

Sherlock's eyes sparkled with delight as he observed the results, quickly grabbing his pen and paper to jot down what they saw.

"This is brilliant Hamish," he muttered. "The toxin cuts of the blood supply to the heart thereby starving it and causing this discolouration. Fascinating stuff is it not? Now I need to get down to St Barts and compare this sample to the internal organs of the two victims."

Hamish nodded in agreement, hovering over Sherlock's shoulder as he jotted down the results. "Can we save these organs, wouldn't mind doing something on then tomorrow." he asked, aware that he defiantly got 'planning a weekend around cutting up organs' from Sherlock. A high bleep sounded from his jeans pocket and he pulled off a glove with his teeth, hoping a little to late that he hadn't ingested anything nasty. Reading the text quickly, Hamish tapped back to his friend as he turned to the door of the 'lab'.
"Um, Dad, Rory just texted me, can I go out tonight? It won't be too late..." he asked cautiously- Sherlock was much more strict about this kind of thing than John seemed to be.

"Yes of course we can keep them," Sherlock muttered, picking up the case notes from Scotland Yard and glancing through them.

He looked up when he heard Hamish's phone beep, eyeing him suspiciously as he put the glove full of chemicals into his mouth but decided not to say anything. He'd done it many times himself and he'd always been alright.

He glowered at his son then checked his watch when he asked to go out. "Well...I suppose you have helped me tonight, and you've done some studying and you did well in your test," Sherlock thought aloud, trying to make a decision. "OK. But leave your phone on and be back by midnight."

Hamish felt his heart sink a little with the cold glare he received from Sherlock.
"But Dad..." he started but before he got a chance to try and convince him otherwise, Sherlock seemed to have changed his mind.
"Thanks!I will, I will- " he called, as he shot Sherlock a beaming smile and bounded up the stairs. He quickly called 'bye' to John, grabbed his coat and wallet and headed out the door, "See you later".

It was chilly outside and the rush hour traffic was just beginning to die down. He decided not to hail a cab and to walk the distance- it would only be a fifteen minute walk to the cinema- and set off out of Baker Street. Fishing his Mp3 out of his coat pocket, he pushed in the ear pieces and turned on a few of his favorite classical pieces.
He'd never admitted to anyone that he actually enjoyed Bach and Beethoven more than anything on the charts, but after playing the violin since he could hold the bow he'd grown to like it, and now the concertos and symphonies reminded him of his childhood when Sherlock would teach them to him by heart.
He turned and took the familiar route down a cut through alleyway just as Tchaikovsky's violin concerto in D Major reached it's climatic forte.
Therefore, he didn't hear the footsteps behind him, or the rustle of a bin bag. With his keen senses reduced, he was completely unaware of the two bulky men who crept along behind him, keeping to the shadows. That was though, until a forcefully hand grabbed the back of his collar, and a rough cloth forced over his face. Hamish choked on the chloroform that flooded his nostrils and tried his best to push the attackers off, managing to drive his heel into a crotch somewhere behind him and being rewarded with a cry and a few seconds free from one of the men.
But it was too little. Feeling his head spin, his thoughts floated away and legs went limp beneath him.
Damn,- was last thought he remebered having- Sherlock's going to make me repeat those Baritsu classes again.
And then the cold concrete met his cheek with a thud and he closed his eyes against the pain, drifting off into an unwilling sleep, the gracefully notes of the violin still sounding in his ears.

John assumed that Hamish had decided to go to his friend's house after all. He liked that his son had friends. He had always had a sunny nature and got on quite easily with people. Looking up from his book he was in time to see his son charge off calling 'Bye'.

“See you later” John called after the miniature whirlwind. He couldn't believe the lad was 16, he didn't feel old enough to have a son of that age.

John couldn't imagine being stuck inside the A& E department of the hospital again after being on the air ambulance duty list. He loved flying and working outside. He returned to his book, it was heavy going in places but it took his mind off work.

Once Hamish had gone, Sherlock finished up in the lab, quickly writing up the results and clearing away a few bits before eagerly jogging back up the stairs to rejoin John in the living room.

It was quite hard to get time to themselves these days. John worked most of the week, and when they had cases on everything was non-stop. So whenever Hamish went out he relished those few precious hours alone with his husband.

"You OK?" Sherlock smiled as he arrived upstairs. He kissed John on the top of his head and went to sit down in the opposite armchair with a sigh, nice to get off his feet for a while. "Hamish has gone out with Rory. Not finished that yet?" He nodded towards the book in John's hands.

John heard Sherlock bouncing up the stairs and looked for his bookmark. He smiled as Sherlock planted a kiss on his head and touched his partner's arm fondly.

“Aha, Hamish texted me while I was at work, he said he might go out. This?” John smiled holding up the book, “God, no, it's Being and Time, so it's been a bit hard to wade through in places. I'm liking it though. Coffee?”

John put the book down on the sidetable and went into the kitchen to fill the kettle. “Makes a nice change to have some time to ourselves.” he called over his shoulder. “What time did you tell Hamish to be home for?”

"Hm, coffee would be great," Sherlock replied, watching John as he made his way into the kitchen.

A moment later he got up and followed him, wrapping his arms round John's waist and resting his chin on his shoulder as he watched him making the coffee.

"He'll be back for midnight, if he behaves himself," Sherlock smiled. "Gives us nearly three hours." He leant down and began to place small kisses all along John's neck.

“Oo hullo” John murmured as he felt Sherlock's arms gently moving across his waist. His heart skipped several beats. Sherlock still had exactly the same effect on him as the first time they had embraced so many years before.

He leaned his cheek towards Sherlock's face. “Generous time allowance” John managed to get out before the attention his husband was paying to his neck began to endanger his ability to hold a sensible conversation.

The gentle little kisses tingled on John's skin and sent a shiver down his spine that raised goosebumps. He dropped his head to allow Sherlock to continue.

Sherlock smirked at the reaction he was getting, the slight stiffening of John's muscles, his eye movements, the change in his breathing. All the little signs Sherlock had learnt to read.

He bared his teeth and scraped gently along the skin, leaving small bites and nips as well as his kisses, sucking up John's delicious flesh into his mouth.

Sherlock had studied sex just like he'd studied chemistry and crime, and he had to admit he'd become something of an expert in the field.

Placing his hands on John's upper arms, Sherlock slowly spun him round so they were facing each other. "Coffee can wait," he muttered, using his forefinger to tilt John's chin up slightly before pushing their lips together in a tender kiss.

John pulled a breath in tensing slightly in anticipation and breathed out heavily as Sherlock took a delight in raising his heart rate with an unhurried series of unpredictable nibbles and kisses.

He gasped as Sherlock's teeth grazed across the sensitive spot low on his carotid artery. Sherlock knew how to play themes and variations with him like he played his violin.

He knew his cheeks were hot, maybe blushed, and his breathing had become irregular before Sherlock turned him around to bring them face to face. The firm, gentle finger brought John's head up to meet Sherlock's warm, soft lips in a tender kiss that made his heart thrum in his chest.

John tilted his head to one side, returning the kiss with slightly more pressure parting his lips a little wider to deepen the kiss then teasingly flicked his tongue across Sherlock's top lip.

Hamish woke slowly. The first thing he managed to deduce was that he was tied up; not a difficult one really when he'd felt the coarse rope cutting into his wrists as he tried to sit up. He also had some kind of jacket on made of heavy and rigid material. With his senses reduced by a blindfold, his mind tired to step up a gear- searching desperately for more data- but the grogginess from the chloroform was only just wearing off.
The next thing he realised was that he wasn't alone.
"No need to struggle," a gruff and heavily accented voice sounded from only centimeters away from him, making him jump in the opposite direction. Trying desperately not to let his breathing rate increase with the adrenaline, Hamish strained his ears for more information. His kidnapper was male, middle aged, a smoker, potentially gay going by the brand of aftershave, defiantly a Londoner and for a long time.
It was a bit, but not enough, and Hamish felt bile rise up his throat in panic. Maybe he wouldn't be able to get out of this. Squirming away from the mans tobacco scented breath, he struggled against his binds. A hand went to the bag over his head which acted as a blindfold and lifted it in one clumsy move.
Bright light flooded in and he screwed his eyes up against it as his pupils adjusted. As soon as he could, he glanced around desperately for the other man, when he noticed a red light on his front.
Looking down Hamish gulped back a scream. The jacket which was carefully fastened around his skinny frame was lined with Semtex. Shit.

Sherlock moaned into John's mouth, his hands finding their way to the doctor's waist as they kissed, his heart fluttering as John slipped his tongue past his lips.

When they finally broke away Sherlock was tingling with excitement, his body already beginning to respond. He took John's hands in his and asked with a cheeky smile, "fancy an early night?"

Not really waiting for the answer, he dragged John towards their bedroom. They'd decided when they first got together that Sherlock's old room would become theirs, and the upstairs room was redundant for a while before Hamish came along.

Sherlock closed the door behind them and pushed John towards the bed, pausing to undo his own shirt buttons as fast as he could, his passion and desire for John really kicking in.

John loved it when Sherlock stopped thinking, let go and simply 'felt'. The sounds that the lean detective made when he was just 'feeling' always turned John on. The cool long hands on John's waist made him shudder from the top of his head down to his toes and a small sound escaped from the back of his throat.

“God, yes” John smiled back at Sherlock's suggestion of an early night and at being towed up the hallway into their bedroom. John feeling his need growing undid his belt and admired the view as Sherlock began to take off his shirt.

John quickly took off his own shirt and as he was doing so had an idea. There was already hot water in the kettle for warming oil “Plenty of time for a massage first?”

Stepping forward his left hand reaching for the detectives waist John slid his right hand slowly up Sherlock's smooth, bare chest brushing lightly past the edge of a nipple.